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"Duke," she continued, speaking firmly, and with much of the amiability gone from her tone, "you are playing the modern Don Quixote to an extent which is unpardonable, even taking into account your anxiety concerning your brother. Lord Ronald was a guest here of Mr. De la Borne's, and to the best of my knowledge he lost little more than he won all the time he was here.
There is no need to make light of Börne's achievement; that also has its high place in the war of liberation. But, powerless as the word may seem, there was in Heine's word a liberating force that is felt in our battle to this day.
He replied to Börne's revolutionary scorn of the mere poet, with a poet's fastidious scorn of the smudgy revolutionist. He tells us of his visit to Börne's rooms, where he found such a menagerie as could hardly be seen in the Jardin des Plantes German polar bears, a Polish wolf, a French ape.
But Heine laid himself open more than most to such scorn as Börne's. There was little of the active revolutionist in his nature. He loved the garish world; he was in love with every woman; but the true revolutionist must be the modern monk. It is no good asking the revolutionist out to dinner; he will neither say anything amusing, nor know the difference between chalk and cheese.
Good-bye, and don't be late to dinner. Mary might scold." "I'll remember. Good-bye, my dear." Patsy was almost singing for joy when she walked into Madam Borne's hair-dressing establishment. "Don't take off your things," said the Madam, sharply, "Your services are no longer required." Patsy looked at her in amazement. Doubtless she hadn't heard aright.
Louise spoke as calmly as if she had not mailed Patricia's defiant letter to Aunt Jane, or discovered her cousin's identity in the little hair-dresser from Madame Borne's establishment. "Has Aunt Jane mentioned her?" continued Beth. "Not in my presence." "Then we may conclude she's left out of the arrangement," said Beth, calmly.
Forrest asked. "It is a curious thing," the Princess replied, "but ever since those few days down at that tumbledown old place of Cecil de la Borne's, she seems to have developed in a remarkable manner. I don't know how much nonsense she talked with that fisherman of hers, but some of it, at any rate, seems to have stuck.
As he turned from the long ill-kept avenue, with its straggling wind-smitten trees all exposed to the tearing ocean gales, into the high road, a great automobile swung round the corner and slackened speed. Major Forrest leaned out and addressed him. "Can you tell me if this is the Red Hall, my man Mr. De la Borne's place?" he asked.
Then he closed his desk, went to luncheon, which he enjoyed amazingly, and then decided to return to Willing Square and await Patsy's return from Madam Borne's.
The Major wrote that he was having a splendid time with the colonel, and begged for an extension of his vacation, to which Patsy readily agreed, she being still unable on account of her limb to return to her work at Madam Borne's.
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